


Nothing

by orphan_account



Series: Terrible and True [14]
Category: Fargo (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can't go back empty-handed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing

Saturday, December 25, 1999 (cont.)

The whole situation’s choreographed perfectly, everything’s timed just right. After they watch Dubois leave his house to walk the dog, Wrench drops Numbers off and parks the car down the street. Now both men are in position and the dance can begin.

The wind whipping against and around the houses on each side of the street crescendos and wanes while Numbers’ footsteps create rhythmic, muffled crunches on the snowy sidewalk. Numbers can’t help but hum a portion of ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy’ to himself, and stops the tune only to snort out a chuckle when, down the lane, Geoffrey Dubois rounds the corner with his mutt pulling him along, just as his rendition reaches what would normally be the violin’s dramatic, fevered singing. Perfect.

The gap between Numbers and Dubois closes, and Numbers tilts his head at Dubois as they’re about to cross paths. “Hey, man. Got the time?”

Dubois pauses, pulling back his coat sleeve to check his watch, and that’s Wrench’s cue: the sedan flies out of its parking space half a block away and roars up the street, screeching to a halt beside the men on the sidewalk. Dubois barely gets a chance to look over his shoulder at the sudden commotion before Numbers pulls out his glock and slams the butt of it against his prey’s head. He catches the guy as he swoons, dazed but not unconscious, and holds one gloved hand over Dubois’ mouth while the other wraps around his torso, keeping him as upright as he’s able.

The dog, a barely-medium-sized thing covered in shaggy black fur, snarls, baring its teeth, and then barks up at Numbers.

“Beat it!” He swings his leg at the animal but misses, almost losing his footing between the kick’s momentum and keeping Dubois semi-vertical.

Wrench pops the trunk and Numbers dumps Dubois inside before clamoring into the front seat. Barely a moment later the car’s speeding into the night, leaving the still-yapping mutt alone on the sidewalk. Wrench looks out the rearview mirror, watching as the frantic dog becomes a tinier and tinier black dot until he can barely make it out at all, a pebble lost in the ocean of white behind them.

~~~~

Throwing Dubois to the floor isn’t good enough for Wrench. And neither is kicking him in the back multiple times, evidently; he pulls the guy up by his collar, bringing himself eye to eye with him, contorts his expression into a vicious sneer, and then cracks his fist across his cheek.

Numbers stands back, nonchalantly watching Wrench bloody Dubois’ face. Then he begins pacing around, inspecting the space they have to work with. It’s an abandoned auto shop, a boarded-up eyesore to the otherwise thriving block of businesses. Chet had pointed the place out as he drove the hitmen to his home, said that Fargo had acquired the property specifically for him and a few of their other Duluth guys to conduct their own business matters. And business was clearly booming at some point: dried and faded pink splatters decorate the pockmarked concrete floor. A small puddle here, a splatter there. A darker stain that almost looks like a handprint, either more recent or merely a trace somebody was too lazy to clean.

Wrench decides Dubois and his own hands have had enough, having split one of his barely-healed knuckles wide open across the blonde man’s face. Slightly out of breath, he turns to Numbers, who’s resumed watching the beating with mild interest. _“He’s all yours.”_

Numbers raises his eyebrows as he walks past Wrench towards the man on the floor, a devilish grin slithering across his lips. Showtime.

Numbers looms over Dubois, who’s sitting on the floor with his elbows on his knees and his neck bent down. Thick drops of blood rapidly fall from his busted nose and onto the floor between his legs.

“So. Here we are, Geoff. Or do you prefer ‘Mr. Carver?’”

Dubois lifts his head and dejectedly smirks, the blood now running like a little red stream from his nose and down, down over his lip and into the narrow spaces between his teeth before finally disappearing behind his bottom lip. He opens his mouth wider to speak but thinks better of it.

~~~~

At the end of the night, all Wrench and Numbers have is a body in their trunk.

_“We have nothing. Three guys, and we have **nothing**.”_

Wrench frowns but doesn’t respond. This isn’t going well. They’re no closer to figuring out the connection between Lagler’s crew and Fargo than when they arrived in Duluth. It’s not an option for Wrench to go back to the boss empty-handed. Can’t disappoint Fargo again. Can’t disappoint _himself_ again.

Numbers flips open the passenger seat’s visor and looks in the mirror, wipes at the bloody smudges on his cheek. _“If L-A-G-L-E-R doesn’t deliver we’re fucked,”_ he says once the majority of the smears are eradicated. _“Royally, royally fucked.”_

Ignoring Numbers’ continued gesturing from the passenger seat, Wrench sets his jaw and starts the car. As he drives back to the cabin, back to the woods surrounding it where they'll dump the body, he thinks about his last job with his old partner. What he could have done differently, how he could have prevented everything that had gone wrong, from start to finish. How he was too inattentive then and a little too cautious now. How, just as he refuses to disappoint himself again, he refuses to disappoint Numbers.

 _“No matter what, we’ll get this done,”_ Wrench assures Numbers as they exit the car. His face is almost pleading, and whether he’s trying to convince Numbers or himself of this he’s not entirely sure. _“Trust me.”_

And Numbers, reaching into the back seat to grab his shovel, believes him, and does.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry (again) for the lack of updates lately! going forward i'm really trying to write and update more frequently.
> 
> and i hate that i have to add this, but somebody's being a transphobe in the comments so tw for transphobia and cissexism


End file.
